


The Night Before the Sky Fell Down

by Hankenstein



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sexual Tension, Threesome, cute fumbley super heroes working out their shit and eventually getting it together, eventually, mentions of clintasha - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hankenstein/pseuds/Hankenstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night that Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers take refuge with the one person they know who isn't trying to kill them, things don't turn out exactly as they'd had in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Close Observation

**Author's Note:**

> Has this been done yet? I can't have been the only person who saw THREESOME in that scene. Slow build, making use of the power of accountability by posting chapter one.

“I think I know someone who can help us.” Steve’s knuckles on the wheel of another “borrowed” car were crisscrossed with narrow cuts, but Natasha swore she could almost see them knitting together before her eyes. 

“Really? I thought everyone you knew was dead. Or SHIELD.” She could barely hear her voice over the ringing in her ears. She sounded flat. 

“No, he’s a… You saw us together. someone I met quite recently… a friend. I hope.” It was hard to tell in the dimming light, and the fine coating of ash and dust on everything, but Natasha eyes were sharp. A blush in Steve’s cheeks accompanied his stuttering language, and like every piece of information that she could not wring immediate meaning from, she filed it away for later use. 

*** 

The pair that arrived on Sam Wilson’s doorstep were a sorry sight. Covered in dirt, clothes torn and singed, cuts and bruises everywhere. But upright at least, and desperately in need of a place to lie low. And when someone like Captain America needs a place to lie low, who was he to refuse.

“Geez, you really got banged up out there. Do you actually feel pain or is there too much beef in the way?” Agent Romanoff, mouth set in a grim line, wincing against her own pain, examined her friend’s wounds and decided that laughter, whilst not the best medicine, might give them a few moments respite before reality came crashing back down upon them.

Steve smiled. “I'm afraid even a national institution is not much good against a giant missile. You're not looking too flash yourself.” He looked over his shoulder as he teased. “Don't you know some sort of anti-air kung-fu?” 

Natasha, despite herself, laughed her croaky laugh. “I'm not really trained in missiles. Here.” Diagnosing with fingers gentle yet firm, she cut away at the shirt surrounding a long gash in his back. “All that muscle's no good if you get an infection. They really did a number on-” 

Her teasing was interrupted as Sam entered. Briefly rocked by the scene, a near shirtless Steve Rogers with his back turned to a some-how smiling Agent Romanoff, living legends bruised and bleeding in his kitchen, he recovered to ask, “Do you guys need anything specific? 'Cause I don't think my first-aid kit's got anything in it for victims of domestic missile strikes.” He thought he’d managed to jump in quite smoothly to their repartee, but he felt like an imposter, a bumbling tourist wandering into a beautiful, established landscape.

The three of them held their smiles as long as they could, but once pressing injuries were tended, the conversation had to turn to darker matters. Sam listened to their tale with initial disbelief and then slow, dawning horror as the reality became clear. National security, hell, global security could be at risk. Everything he’d fought for. 

“Of course you can stay here. I’ve got a spare bed, food… whatever you need.” 

“I think,” Steve took a deep breath, hands resting on his knees. “I think I’d like to take a shower.” 

“Of course!” Sam replied earnestly. “I’ll get you some towels.” 

As the two men stood to walk toward the bathroom, Natasha watched their movements closely, the shine of something that was almost adoring in Sam’s eye. Well, the Cap tended to inspire that in people. But it was more than boyish admiration on Sam’s part. She silently noted the way their bodies angled toward each other, the feeling that they both were always distinctly aware of the position of the other, and conscious of being too close, or too far away, though they could barely look in each other’s eyes. It was like watching a well choreographed dance, an instinctive push and pull. Suspicions began to form, and when the door to the bathroom shut, and Sam spent a lingering moment looking at the shut door as though staring through it, her suspicions coalesced. 

“How did you meet the Captain?” She asked as she heard the water come on. 

“Just by accident, I think. We share a jogging route, out by the memorial.” He laughed softly. “Though sharing, well, anything with him seems pretty ridiculous, doesn’t it? He mostly just run rings around me.” Sam looked down and smiled, and Natasha felt her cheeks warm, a slight flush of embarrassment, as though she’d looked into something deeply private. 

“He’s really something, isn’t he? There is a human underneath all those rippling pectorals though, you know.” Their eyes met briefly, and a mutual flash of understanding passed between them. 

“Uhh, Sam?” Steve’s voice called from the bathroom. 

Sam started. “Yeah?” 

“I don’t have any clean clothes, can I borrow some?” 

Natasha noted Sam’s pupils dilate as he stood to help.

***

It had been bad enough trying to keep his concentration up talking to Agent Romanoff knowing Steve was in the shower. Images of the Captain disrobing, wide shoulders, scruffy hair, leaning his body again the cool wall of his shower, his apartment. Captain America was in his shower. It was a struggle to keep his eyes and mind on his company, lovely as she was. And now he had a pair of sweatpants and a singlet in hand and was walking toward a door that presumably had a naked, damp Steve Rogers behind it. Sam was finding concentration a whole new level of challenging. Taking a steadying breath, he knocked. 

_Don’t stare, Wilson. Whatever you do don’t stare._ His two guests had just been through near-successful attempt on their lives by people they thought were friends. They were grieving a commanding officer. Their allies had turned against them and the last thing Steve wanted was a gawping fan boy. _Eye north of the collarbones, Wilson._

The pep talk turned out to be a good idea, because when the door opened on Steve Rogers, shirtless and as suspected, undeniably damp, Sam felt like he had to tighten a clamp over his eyes to keep them up. He successfully kept them there whilst proffering the clothes, but like a taut rubber band, his resolve snapped momentarily and Sam’s eyes gave a single involuntary swoop, taking in the narrow, towel wrapped waist, sparse trail of hair and a seemingly impossibly expanse of chest. 

Forcing himself to meet the Captain’s eyes as he handed over the clothes was almost worse, as their eyes locked and Sam had to acknowledge that those eyes were very, very blue. 

_Get it together, man,_ he berated himself, walking from the bathroom back out to the kitchen, where Agent Romanoff watched him like a hawk, eyes tired but a small smile now playing on her full lips.


	2. Careful Infiltration.

“There’s only the one bed, sorry guys.” Sam opened the door to the spare room, and a cleaned yet unused smell wafted out.

“I’ll take the floor.” Steve said automatically.

Natasha practically snorted. “You are unreal. If you were any more holy I’d need sunglasses for that halo.” Sam choked on his laughter.

“I'm sorry, I’m just trying to-“ Steve spluttered.

“Get in the damn bed, Rogers.” Natasha’s voice was worn, but she was biting back a smile.

Once again aware of the gaping chasm between him and this easy, intimate camaraderie, Sam excused himself with a quiet “Get some rest, you two.”

It was strange climbing into bed with Steve Rogers, but after all they’d been through, it was a strangeness easily shaken. Despite the bulk of him, of course his first move when in the double bed was to lie close to the edge, giving Natasha as much room as he could. She found the purity, the kindness of him so endearing, even if she didn't, couldn't reciprocate. She wasn't even sure she knew how to be so utterly, recklessly _good_.

She gave a deep, shuddering sigh. Suddenly warm, a friend at her back, under the cover of near-darkness, her coping smile disappeared, and the weight of everything that happened today unfurled from where it had been stored in a tight knot in her chest. Rolling over, she covered the distance in the bed with one uncertain hand, pressing her palm to Steve’s singlet-covered back. When he didn't flinch away or speak, she slid her hand down to anchor on one firm hip, and slithered her whole body over, pressing the length of her breasts and stomach against his ridiculously solid, comforting body.

“Sorry,” she murmured against the top of his spine. It was almost hilarious. Natasha was not a tiny woman, and against most men her lips would be pressed into his hair or neck, but not with Cap.

“Its fine,” he whispered. “I… I understand.” He shuffled and rolled over to pull Natasha into his chest properly, suddenly welcoming the contact.

They lay like that for awhile, too warm in their borrowed clothes under borrowed blankets, but neither willing to let go.

Later on Natasha would have to admit that in order to get her mouth to his, she had to consciously move, untuck her face from under his chin, but in the moment it felt like it flowed, liquid and lush from the embrace, and suddenly their mouths were together, gentle yet urgent, fervently kissing into and over each other’s lips, taking something from one another, but giving, giving endlessly, pouring comfort and lust and raw, almost tangible fear into one another, trying at once to both heal their own scars and take the burden of the other’s.

“Wait… Nat.” Steve pulled away, his breath heavy. “Clint.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence. “We… we’re not… I mean we are but…” Steve could see Natasha’s eyes seeking his in the dim light. “We are, but we never made promises to each other that we knew we couldn't keep.”

A world of meaning revolved behind her words. _Maybe you’re in the wrong business_ , they’d said, broken trust, far flung missions on opposite sides of the world, sometimes no break, no home, can’t trust anyone, can’t trust yourself to trust anyone. Nothing is ever easy, or simple; stolen moments and a bond forged in fire doesn't mean anything when one of you could die on a mission and months would pass before the other even heard.

“Ok,” was all Steve whispered in response, and his mouth was on hers again, trusting her words, trusting the hands that first slid under then frantically tugged up on his shirt. He awkwardly wriggled out of it, then putting his hands on her narrow waist, easily pulled Natasha up and onto him, so she was straddling his hips. She could feel the heat of him, the warm arousal through their clothes, and she was already grinding her hips against the ridge of Steve’s cock as he pulled the borrowed shirt up and over her head. He had a brief and disorientating moment where all he could smell was Sam in his hands, on his lap. 

He ran his large hands down from her shoulders, letting her breasts sit heavy in his palms, instinctively catching her nipples between and thumb and forefinger, and she let out a low, almost grating moan. He continued his hands in a warm slide down her body, and marvelled at how she felt, so much smaller than he, but coiled, concentrated power beneath his hands, tight sinew under impossibly soft skin. Captain America was a hammer where Black Widow was a razor blade, both capable of building and creating, but always with the huge and terrifying potential for destruction. Steve couldn't believe that it had taken until now for him to realise how well their bodies could fit together. He nudged her body back down against him, their chests together as he kissed and bit her throat, her neck, ripples of sensation flowing out over her body from his tongue running in an unwavering line against her collarbone, and suddenly Natasha was thinking perhaps Steve was neither as pure or innocent as she might have suspected. Taking her weight off Steve’s lap, she tugged down his sweatpants, her panties, and before Steve even felt like he could catch up, her hand was holding his cock firmly, as she sat up and straddled his thighs. 

Her eyes roved boldly over his body laid out beneath her, taking in as much as she could see in the dim light from the nearby streetlamp. He let out a low, long moan. 

“You know, I was worried you’d be huge,” she said softly, unable to contain her professional curiosity in the topic. Having thumped his head back and rested both hands on his forehead at the sensation, Steve’s moaning caught and became a huff of laughter. “What? I’ve read the files! You grew a foot, Rogers!” She leant down and kissed him again, hand still on him, and despite her laughter, he could feel her heart racing through her skin, feel the heat and wetness of her arousal against his thigh. Still smiling, he took his hands off his forehead to rest them on her hips, and tug gentle to encourage her forward. Without even breaking the moment or him noticing, she’d some how gotten a condom on him. He briefly debating asking how, but then simply wrote it off to Nat being a boy scout for these kinds of situations. She cried out, hardly a master of stealth in this moment, as she straddled him once more and sank onto his cock. Steve, humming in pleasure, let his hands do the same sensual slide down her body as before, lingering on her nipples, before letting his hands dwarf her slender waist as the two of them pushed against each other, finding a rhythm, a hot, slick unity.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, and Natasha’s response was a slight flick of the head, and a grinding snort, of derision? Scepticism? Of course Black Widow knew she was beautiful in the way that men liked. Generous hips and tits, just enough soft body fat to hide the taut muscle she carried, big lips, big eyes, rough and smoky voice. It was almost a cliché, how much of an edge it gave her, how simply being “beautiful” made her work so simple. She almost laughed at Steve’s soft, reverential whisper because, you know what, for a moment she’d thought he was something different, something special, and that it wasn't going to be like that. Perhaps, she’d let herself hope, after the reckless decision to kiss him was irreversible, it could be more like it was with Clint, where she was a friend and comrade first, a lover second, and no where on his list was she an object to be admired from afar. 

Never one to not finish what she started, she rested her hands over Steve’s and ground her hips into his, seeking an easy back-and-forth motion that she knew felt amazing to any lover. She sat back up, pushing her body away so that he could see her shape rather than feel the warm intimate press of bodies together. Natasha was well aware the sight of her curves as she rode him was enough to drive any man wild.

No words had been spoken, but it was foolish of her to think that her gear shift would not be noticed by Steve. Most men, too wrapped up in the sight of her admittedly fantastic breasts and the delicious feel of her riding them, wouldn't even think twice about the subtle shift, the space suddenly present that was not there before.

But not Steve was not most men.

Barely moments had passed since his whispered his compliment to her, and Steve could practically feel the heat in the air dissipate. He gripped Natasha’s hips to halt her motion and spoke. “Whoah, what did I say?” 

“Nothing! It’s fine.” With sigh, she tried to move against his grip to find it locked down tight. 

“It’s not fine. What did I do? You… you stopped wanting this but you’re doing it anyway.”

Natasha was momentarily flummoxed. Steve’s grip on her legs was perfectly pressured, keeping her from moving with an iron grip, but nothing that was going to bruise or cause pain. Never once had she been so articulately called on her façade, usually flawless once it went up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, running her fingers delicately down Steve’s chest, reaching for the lost moment. 

“Nat…” he sighed and guided her body off his, disentangling them. She rocked back, sitting on the bed, facing him, her face unreadable in the dark of the room. “Remember, we’re trying out this whole honesty thing?”

“I know _you_ were doing the whole honesty thing. Never knew I’d signed up for it.” Goddamnit, but she didn’t know why she was being so _prickly_ all of a sudden. Steve was her friend, probably her only friend. Whatever was happening out there, they were in it together. She didn't want to push him away, it just seemed to happen that way, words falling from her mouth with far too much practised ease. 

He propped himself up on his elbow as to face her. “It’s kind of a big deal for me. Especially when this kind of thing is involved.” He paused. He didn't want to lecture. “So, want to tell me what’s going on?” The moment stretched on. The big man laying on his side, naked except for a sheet over his waist, a strangely modest gesture. 

“You called me beautiful,” she said wearily.

“I wasn't aware that was going to be a problem,” Steve said, though he did not mock. 

“I just get…” the husky croak, always present in her voice, seemed to finally take control and close her throat with a rasp. “I get sick of it, that’s all.” She pushed through, voice worn from screaming and smoke and death, but unquenchable. “You've read most of my files. I don’t… This is often just a tool for me,” she gestured, taking in his naked form, the bed, the room. “I was just looking for… a friend. And suddenly it was just work again.” That thought sunk in, and he touched her bare back, ran a slow, steadying hand up her spine. She lay back down with him, letting him wrap his arms around her again. 

“I’m sorry that I made you feel used.” 

“I know you didn’t-” 

“Shhh sh let me finish.” He spoke against her hair. “I don’t know if it would help at all, but I don’t think you’re beautiful.” 

“Hey, I-”

“Would you just let a man finish a thought?” he asked, pulling back to look into her eyes as they both laughed. "I don't think you're beautiful, I think you're terrifying. And dangerous. And funny. I think... I think you're fantastic at what you do, but I think you're more that what you do, too."

The beat of silence brought the aforementioned terror to Steve's heart, but it dissipated when Natasha, openly stunned, murmured, "Thanks. The feeling... it's uh... mutual, you know." She opened her mouth to talk and decided differently, kissing him again. It was different this time, a slow, breathy exploration, bodies touching but not frantically jammed against each other, a mutual warmth, a trust. When they broke the kiss, Nat gave herself enough room to murmur slyly into one chiselled clavicle. "We both know I'm not really the one you want to be in bed with right now." 

Steve stiffened, debated denying it, then laughed. "Yeah, that obvious, huh?" 

"I imagine it's been awhile, for you."

"I don't have time for a... a crush." Steve admitted it both to himself and Natasha in the same moment. 

"We've got time right now. And, if my observations are correct, reciprocity." Natasha teeth flashed, white against her face.

"Nat-" he warned. 

She ran her fingers down his smooth side, goosebumps raised by her touch and her words. "What are we waiting for?" She propped herself up on one elbow. 

"What if you're wrong?" Steve asked, sudden vulnerability in his voice.

"About this? I'm never wrong." And her teeth flashed white again before she slipped out of the bed and left the spare room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating upped for sexy times.


	3. Concurrent Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's borderline meddlesome matchmaking finally pays off.

The house wasn't very large, or very sound proof, Sam told himself. 

It wasn't that his ears were straining, or he was imagining sounds that weren't there. It wasn't that he was lying awake, torturing himself, nurturing his churning stomach and an unpleasant fizzing in his cheekbones. 

Jealousy was an ugly emotion. He could have sworn he heard a feminine voice cry out, and desperately told himself to go to sleep.

That was not going to happen. 

He stood at the open fridge, searching fruitlessly for something that might soothe his agitation. He nearly dropped the juice when a low voice spoke behind him. 

“What are you still doing up?”

He hadn’t heard her enter the kitchen. He turned to look at Natasha, legs long under his borrowed t-shirt, hair ruffled and looking achingly beautiful in the glow from the fridge.

“I uh… couldn’t sleep.”

“Mm.” She approached, taking the juice from his hand. She tilted her head, asking permission. He nodded and she swigged the juice straight from the bottle, Sam berating himself for noting a red mark on the delicate skin of her throat. God, he was _terrible._

“We can’t sleep either. Want to not-sleep together?” Natasha asked, something sly in her voice as she looked up at Sam.

“I- what?” 

She outright laughed, replaced the juice and as though it was the most natural thing in the world, took his hand and led him toward the spare bedroom. Sam, totally dazed, allowed himself to be led like a wayward child.

The room was rather austere, a bed with a single table and lamp that was now on, suffusing the room in a warm glow. Sam didn’t have guests very often. It was his own damn spare room and he felt like he’d never seen it before. Steve, he swore, took up a good two thirds of the double bed, and had this bemused look on his face, that was halfway to laughter, a _hey don’t look at me, I don’t tell her what to do_ look, his smile inviting Sam in on the joke

Sam had a brief and agonizing moment after Tash let go of his hand in the doorway and slid onto the bed next to Cap. She only let him hover for a moment, reaching an arm over her friend’s bare torso to pat the bed on the other side, barely containing her grin as she invited Sam Wilson, ex soldier and just a man, still piecing his new life back together, onto the bed with the two of them, a pair of _heroes_ who had somehow stalled in their mission to save the world, and wound up here, in his spare room.

Sam’s entire universe narrowed to a point, and that point was a loud and repetitive _fuckfuckfuck_ humming through his brain as his legs took him into the room to perch his ass on the mattress. 

A small firm hand gripped his shoulder, and he once again went with it, brain still nothing but a haze of insistent swearing as he found himself lying down, facing into those blue eyes and a smile that seemed suddenly shy. “Hey,” Sam said, absolutely no idea what he was planning on following that up with, except possibly “Fuck.” 

Sam was painfully aware of the bare chest before him, no contact between them, feeling the warmth radiating from the other man, the fact that he was close enough to feel soft breath on his face when Steve replied. “Hey,” mouth twisting in a shy smile.

Steve swallowed, his eyes fluttering as he felt Natasha’s lips on the back of his neck, kissing determinedly up his shoulder. Her eyes boldly sought Sam’s as she smiled wickedly over Steve’s bare shoulder, and fastened her teeth in a leisurely bite into Steve’s trapezius. Steve _groaned_ , eyes shut fully, and Sam, desperately aroused and terrified, still uncertain of his welcome here, went to pull away, to leave.

“I should- I-“

“No.” Steve placed his warm hand on Sam’s bicep, and finally broaching the tiny distance still left between them, pulled him into a kiss. Sam sighed against the mouth on his, letting his own hand come up to fasten against Steve’s hip, his fingertips brushing the naked skin of Natasha’s thigh, who was firmly coiled against Steve’s back. 

Sam pulled his chest against Steve’s, the heat of him burning through the thin fabric of the tee he still wore. 

Their lips parted, and Sam breathed out, the tenuous uncertainty, the fear inside him melting away in the face of Steve’s almost disbelieving smile, his _ohshitIcan’tbelievewejustdidthat_ breath of laughter. "Stay." Steve said softly.

Propping herself up on one arm, Natasha reached and pulled Sam into a kiss, squashing Steve’s blonde head between them as they joined their mouths in a sweet, messy kiss, Steve actually laughing into Sam’s chest. 

“Don’t mind me,” Natasha said breathlessly, snuggling down into Steve’s back, hand snaking over to Wilson’s hip, and crushing them all together, a Steve sandwich with the calculated side-effect of bringing the two mens’ hips together, groins bumping against one another through what Sam realized was only a single crumpled sheet hiding Steve’s erection.

“Fuck,” he hissed with realization, giving into Nat’s grip and letting his body grind into Steve’s, kissing him again with newfound ease and enthusiasm.

Kissing her way back up Steve’s neck, teeth scraping the curve of one ear as the two men kissed, Natasha whispered, “I think Wilson should take his shirt off, Cap.” 

Not breaking the kiss but now frantically humming his assent into Sam’s mouth, Steve let his fingers find the hem of the grey shirt and tugged, pulling back long enough to remove the shirt then happily cramming their bare chests back together, murmuring a constant, satisfied hum as he started kissing into the Sam's neck, freeing his mouth to gasp and reply, “I think it’s your, ah- your turn now, surely, Tash.”

Nat smiled that comfortable, sly smile again as she sat up, the one that said she was having more fun than she knew what to do with, pulling the large tee over her head and literally flinging it away.

Then it was her in the middle, Steve running his fingers in gently, widening arcs against her thighs, ribs, belly, fingers ghosting over the lower curve of her breast, teasing, tickling touches with her shoulder half-jammed into Sam’s chest, head turned sharply to kiss him deeply. Everywhere was warm sensation, firm physicality, something intensely comforting in being surrounded just so.

She could feel Sam’s cock against her back, and twisting to create space, reached behind her to take it in her hand, feeling him gasp against her mouth, breaking the kiss in distraction only to have his mouth captured in Steve’s, the two men kissing over Nat’s head as she slid her hand with languid ease over Sam’s cock, scratching the nails of her other hand down as much of Steve’s chest as she could reach in the crush. 

“Steve,” Natasha said, and he immediately dropped his mouth to hers, kissed her briefly, and then looked at her expectantly, awaiting instruction, eyes flitting to Sam’s face behind her, his breath coming in labored gasps. 

“I think you should kneel up top here,” she suggested. Steve snapped to, maneuvering on the bed that was considerably too small for three if them. His eyes were dark and somewhat troubled as he did so. 

"Is this ok?" he asked, sitting back on his haunches, shyly using his forearms to cover himself, his fervent arousal, suddenly hyper aware that this was all moving _very_ quickly. His eyes met Sam's, and he was comforted by what he saw there as Sam looked up at him, lips parted and breath coming heavy, a raw desire and astounding openness. Sam's only reply was to put one hand on Steve's hip, fingernails digging in as he encouraged Steve's hips and cock forward, and into his mouth, eyes open, wet parted lips taking him in with a soft hum of appreciation. 

Natasha extricated herself from between them, kneeling next to Steve, one hand gripping and leaning into Sam's firm hip, the other reaching up and scratching through the short hair at the nape of Steve's neck as he let his head fall back, a broken, hitching sigh escaping him. This was what she had wanted, to see Steve just so, his cheeks flushing and sheening with sweat, perfect hair completely trashed as he slowly and instinctively began to thrust against Sam's mouth, pushed on by unbearable sensation and the constant groaning encouragement Sam was managing.

Natasha stood, earning her a confused look from Cap as she stooped to whisper a question in Sam's ear. He gasped as he took his mouth away, and answered, "Bedroom, dresser."

Steve watched her walk out of the room, eyes on her pale skin, her taut frame, but more importantly on the roguish smile she threw over her shoulder at him as she walked out, all sinew and grace and total comfort with her naked body. 

She returned with a handful of condoms and lube, taking another moment to appreciate the scene before her, Sam laying on his side, tall brown body laid out precariously close to the edge of bed as her dear friend, the almost comically well formed Cap fucked lazily into Sam's mouth, an apparent fluidity, a rhythm to it now. 

"Nat you're such- ah- a boy scout," Steve gasped, smiling.

"Mm, where would you be without me?" She dumped her loot, coming to her knees on the bed, eyes on Steve as she tugged Sam’s hip to lay him flat on his back, taking his cock, a little wider by the feel but very similar, in one hand and licked a long, slow stripe along the bottom, Sam moaning wetly against Steve's dick as she slid her lips over the head, lipping him softly, teasing, before taking Sam full in her mouth, pushing down against his hips, humming into him, long hair falling in her eyes. Steve unconsciously reached to push her hair back, hand lingering to touch and encourage the motion of her mouth around Sam. 

Sam giving muffled gasps and moans, pushed his mouth and throat forward around Steve's cock with renewed enthusiasm, eliciting a breathy, "Fuck!" from the kneeling man. 

Nat took a brief respite to free her mouth and croak. "That is the first time I've ever heard you use that word!" 

"Yeah, well, _fuck_." He repeated breathlessly. "Now I feel lazy, you guys, I'm the only one not doing any work."

Sam looked up at him through eyes suddenly bold, taking his slick mouth away. "Well..." he breathed. "If it's okay...? I've got something you could do."

Both Sam and Natasha sat up, Sam nearly falling off the edge as he did so, looking over to Tash to see her holding up a condom, offering it to him. 

"This work for you, Rogers?" she asked him, a smile in her voice, and playing on her red, swollen lips. 

"I- what about you?" he asked earnestly, openly , not deflecting or deferring but honestly asking, not wanting to make it all about him, not realizing that for two thirds of the people in the room, it already _was_ about him.

"Oh don't mind me. I'm a terrific spectator."

It took a little navigating to make it work, trying then abandoning Sam kneeling on the bed, deciding he was better standing, the small room heavy with the smell of sex, of sweat, three sets of limbs and heat tangling on the double bed. Finally they'd arranged themselves, Sam standing at the foot of the bed, Steve laying back with several pillows enlisted to get them lining up right, Natasha curled into Steve's side, kissing him, kissing his neck, running small hands all over his chest, briefly touching his aching erection, curling gently under his balls as Sam put on a condom and poured cold liquid on his hands and cock, gradually warming it, touching him, touching Steve, hands bumping Tash's, slick and warm and ready. 

Sam stopped himself from asking again, if it was ok, if he was allowed to be here, standing between Captain Amer- no, between Steve's legs, that it was real and he was welcome here, looking down into the other man's face, which was nervous and tight with anticipation, with lust. Hardly even seeming to realise he was doing it, Steve was nodding slightly, breath catching.

He slowly, agonizingly pushed his lube slicked cock forward and into Steve, egged on by his hitching breath, his frantic nods, face totally red as he gasped and gripped Sam's hip, literally pulling him forward until Sam was as deep as he could go, face hot and breath heavy. 

"You're so beautiful," Nat whispered, teasing and yet deadly serious, running her hands through Cap's sweaty hair as Sam started to rock his hips, hands gripping into the curve of Steve's thighs, throwing back his head, almost unable to bear the scene before him, it was too much, the broad chest, Nat's body hugging tight to Steve's side as she kissed and bit into his neck, running a slick hand over Steve's cock, timing herself with Sam's thrusts, deep, wrecked sounding moans coming out of the man, the fucking hero underneath him.

Sam was only human. 

"I'm gonna-" hips stuttering, frantic.

"Yes, I-" as Natasha picked up her pace, whipping her hand over Steve's, hand crushed between their bodies, as Sam fell forward, breathing hard through his own orgasm, feeling Steve twitch and pulse in her hand as he came, Steve groaning into Sam's mouth as they practically crammed their mouths together. 

They lay in the messy heap for a few stunned minutes, Natasha of course being the one to source a towel for the sticky men, then coiling her body into Steve's back once more, as Steve and Sam worked out their tangle of limbs to hang on tight to each other, breathing in each other's space, Sam working one hand over the jut of one hip to rest it in the dip of Nat's waist, unable to speak the strange sense of gratitude he felt for the woman in that small gesture.

Steve, similar sense of gratitude welling in his chest, upset the whole tangle by rolling over to take Natasha in his arms again, murmuring "Thank you," before bring his mouth down to hers, slow and soft, but with a purpose, a desperation to express a lot of things without words.

In the midst of this kissing, Natasha noted that she could feel Steve's arousal against her stomach, warm and pulsing. "How in the world...," she laughed, brows knitting and a incredulous smile on her face. 

"Uhh... enhanced stamina, remember?" he said, smiling sheepishly. Nat heard Sam guffaw with laughter. 

"Besides, I still feel like... you got a little left out." There was a question in his eyes, and he kissed her again as she answered with her body, hooking one leg over his and pulling him onto her, kissing him warm and slow, the urgency gone out of the air but none of the heat.

Sam this time performed the task of retrieving and unwrapping a condom, handing to Steve, movements languid but eyes avid and fascinated. Steve fucked her with that same unhurried energy, elbows on either side of her face, watching her, achingly slow, body pressed into hers as she reddened and gasped, relishing every push and pull, every thrust, nails digging painfully into the cheek of his ass as her breath sped up, grinding, desperate moans, starting to hurry now that Natasha was meeting each thrust hard with her own, Sam running a rough hand down Steve's back, leaning in to kiss her throat and breasts as she opened he mouth to let out a long, croaky moan into Sam's mouth, scratching a long bleeding track into Steve's already-injured back as she came, frantic and full and surrounded. 

"Ok, spectating is pretty good but that was _better_ ," she breathed.

"I don't know, I enjoyed that a whole damn lot," Sam assured her.

They lay back, trying to adjust to this new world view, sensing their fears circling, pacing, trying to creep back into the circle of happiness and companionship that had briefly driven those terrors back. All of a sudden tomorrow felt a whole lot closer than it had one threesome earlier. 

"So... I guess we really should get some rest now," Steve finally admitted. "Thought I don't think the three of us are going to make sleep happen on this bed. It was bad enough when we _wanted_ to be crammed up against each other."

Sam let out a groan, suddenly slapping one free hand to his forehead. "I am such an idiot!" he said, voice wrecked.

"What?" Natasha and Steve asked in unison, fears bursting forth, adrenaline crashing both their systems, ready for bad news, ready to pack and run and fight and win like they always did. 

"No no, it's nothing bad or that. It's just... If we'd moved... I've got a queen bed in my room."

Stunned silence met this factoid. 

Then three voices in sudden, raucous laughter, several gasps of _oh my god_ and _I nearly fell off like three times_ and _yes you're right you are a fucking idiot_ and _oh my god_. They gripped each other tight in a giggling crush, and managed to hold onto their moment for just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this journey!
> 
> I come from the school of "Cap is bi and everyone including him knows and is cool with it," thought, I didn't want to spend much/any time on him agonizing over that, just the usual level of stress over having a crush on a super cute dude. So that's how I wrote it.
> 
> I also come very much from the "safe sex is sexy," school of thought, so I refuse to gloss over or ignore protection even in fantasy land. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my proofreaders [Adaptable Sexuality](http://adaptablesexuality.tumblr.com/) and [Mikecheck112](http://mikecheck112.tumblr.com/). How would I know if my threesome positions translated via paper without you or that neither Sam nor Steve are marines. Stellar. 
> 
> As per usual, please comment! It makes my day and little cartoon hearts come out my ears. Come visit and follow me at my tumblr [InflictingFandom](http://inflictingfandom.tumblr.com/) if you like!


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